I see his eyes caress her skin,
And follow her every room she walks in.
The look I know well,
It is the lust straight from the fires of hell.
My stomach churns and
My body shudders
For the one he lusts
after is none other than
He wants her with a lust
that threatens his composure.
My own strains to
disabuse him of his need for “closure”
My stomach churns &
my body barely contains a shudder
for the lust that he bears
is for my pre-teen daughter
Her breasts have barely begun
to strain against her clothing
and her hips are just
Please understand my horror
for his lust must be an error.
God give me strength as I hover
for I dread to be that kind of Mother.
I see his hand reach for
and it is as though my lungs
are under a test.
I desperately want to scream
but I’m caught in a very bad dream.
She jerks away, sure it is
& I pretend not to notice for her sake.
I sense her discomfort
and I walk to wrap her in my arms to give her comfort.
I saw his eyes light up with interest
and my heart sunk that everyone else feigned disinterest.
My flesh, my blood, my daughter,
groped by a man who could be her father.
Bile rises from my stomach
as his lust with disgust
I watch in pain & heartache
for at one point with him, her did we trust.
My soul cries out with despair
and my hands grip my hair
tears from my eyes fall
as I realize it was only a dream after all.
As I gaze at my sleeping lover,
I wonder, am I, could I be that kind of Mother?
My hands caress my stomach to soothe my unborn daughter.
God, I pray, let me not be that kind of mother.
I look once more upon my lover,
fast asleep in a land of wonder.
If he doubted our child’s claim,
would I worry about our family name?
My skin crawls at the thought
and my mind notes, all the things in this house he bought.
My skin turns clammy, as I realize our life would change since I can’t afford a nanny.
My heart breaks because I know she’d never eat cakes if we left my lover.
Sobs rack my body as I contemplate my unborn child’s fate.
Anger boils in my veins, damn it all these are just things.
I’d rather live in a hovel &
see my daughter dig dirt with a shovel
than witness her hurt & shame
all for the sake of our family name.
With renewed strength I snuggle closer to my lover.
Finally, my stirring, he discovers.
As he asks me what is wrong
I know where I belong.
I will never be that kind of mother.